Page 106 of The Unlikely Pair

Harry seems determined to reexamine the fabric of the quilt, a blush trekking up his cheeks. “Well, it would be prudent tohave the person who knows what they’re doing in the driver’s seat to begin with, so to speak.”

I don’t even take up all the amazing innuendo opportunities that the driving-sex metaphors allow because I’m too busy trying to recover from my shock.

How does this man, who is so steadfast and stable, still manage to surprise me?

Logistics. I need to keep this to logistics.

“I don’t think there are any lube or condoms in the survival kit,” I say.

“It’s another thing they forgot. We really should complain to the makers when we get home,” Harry says.

Home.

It’s a word that has so much meaning tied up in it.

I try not to think about home much, about how the world is still going on without us. London feels so far away right now.

I blow out a breath. “Regarding the no condoms thing, I test regularly, and I haven’t been with anyone since my last test,” I say.

Harry looks up at me wordlessly.

“I trust you, Toby,” he says finally.

I have to break away from that blue-eyed stare because it causes another commotion in my chest, and I don’t believe it’s a good idea to upset the organ that lies in my chest when we are so far from medical help. I concentrate on finishing up my bowl of stew.

Harry takes the empty bowl from me and stands, returning it to the kitchen. He puts it in the bucket we use for our dirty dishes. “I…um…obviously don’t get tested regularly, but the last test I had showed no issues,” Harry says.

His words remind me of how he denied himself for so long. It’s unbelievable, really. Especially as I’m now intimately familiar with how much Harry enjoys sex.

Curiosity bubbles up inside me, and I have to ask. “Do you think your sexuality would hurt you politically?”

Harry’s back stiffens. There’s silence for a few heartbeats before he answers me.

“Yes. Maybe it wouldn’t be overt, but we still have a strong Christian element among the base of the Conservative Party. I don’t think I would have been elected the leader if I was living as an openly gay man.”

“What about now?”

“What do you mean, now?”

“I mean, if the truth came out now that you’re already the leader.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me what the response would be if my party and the public discovered I’d concealed an essential part of myself for the last twelve years?”

Harry’s question is the definition of rhetorical. Because we both know exactly what would happen. Anyone with leadership aspirations inside his party would use the truth as a weapon to challenge him to become leader. In our parliamentary democracy, voters choose the party they want in power. Then, the party members decide the ranking of the politicians within the party. Which means your colleagues are always your biggest threat.

“It’s a shame because you really are good at gay stuff,” I say the words lightly in an attempt to change the mood.

“I’ll take that compliment,” Harry says as he finishes wiping the bench. “Anyway, I better go and check the trap lines. We can have fried fish for dinner, along with the remains of the stew.”

“I think I’ll spend my afternoon chopping firewood.”

Harry grabs the oilskin coat off the hook by the door, then throws a grin at me. “You know what they say, Toby. Chop with care, or splinters you’ll bear.”

“You, of all people, should know how good I am at handling wood,” I reply.

Harry chuckles as he leaves.

After Harry’s footsteps move off the porch, I haul myself out of bed and get dressed.